Month: September 2008

Idol ruminations – second week

So tonight’s guest judge is Cyndi Lauper.
OMG people – if we tallied up the hours I spent singing Cyndi Lauper songs into a hair brush as a teenager. Woot.

First up is Luke Dickens singing the Mellancamp’s Jack and Diane. I think he rocked it. ROCKED it. As Dicko said, ‘you got rid of the devil t-shirts so well done’.
Cyndi even teared up bless her.

Brooke Addamo is second. She really does have an excellent voice but she just has that good girl demeanour that’s going to be hard to shake.
Cydni reckons she did good.

Madam Parker is up next – she’s been sick. THe song should be really punchy. It seem s flat to me. The dress is a shocker – think workman safety vest meets disco. I think she’s just glad it’s over. But all the judges are being very kind. Maybe it’s the prescence of the Cyndi.

Mark Spano is up next singing The Cars’ song I wanna know what love is. Seriously people. How many premenstrual nights did I spend anguishing I’d never have a boyfriend let alone get married and have a hundred kids over this song. Oy. All the judges love him and are telling him so. It’s getting a bit boring actually. Where is the train wreck.

Tom Williams is singing Billy Joel’s Uptown Girl. He’s really pitchy. Really pitchy. For some bizarre reason Cyndi and Marcia talk him up. THANK GOD for Dicko – gives him a good talking to and Kyle – a disaster.

Chrislyn is doing Cyndi’s song True Colours. Oh GOD I love the 80s. OH she is SO GOOD. I LOVE HER. The End. She’s getting another standing ovation from the audience. And Dicko said it perfectly – that she nailed the quiet tender songs after we’ve seen her ripping up the big songs.

Teale Jakubenko is singing U2 – I hate U2 covers on Idol so this could be disastrous. OH – I just had this flash that he’s the new John Farnham. God help us all. He actually did an OK job. That GOD he didn’t do the falsetto stuff. That’s just creepy. The judges are heaping praise. It was OK and tought to be the one following Chrislyn.

Geez – Cyndi is all about the warm up. And the pulling on your tongue with a tissue.

Sophie Paterson is next – doing the whole blonde bombshell thing. I heart the Eurythmics. She’s not scary enough. And she should have worn stockings. But Kyle likes it. They all like it. The general homogeny amongst the hosts is getting boring. Cyndi and Kyle start to get snarky with each other and thank the LORD they do. Holy Moly.

Wes Carr comes out and just owns the stage singing Dancing in the Dark. Goodness I wish he’d get rid of the hats but he’s just in a league of his own. As Kyle said, he’s already good to go.

Roshani Priddus is singing Tina Turner. I intensley dislike Tina Turner songs. Have I shared that before? I love the movie and just marvel at the life and strength of the woman but the music just makes my neck itch. Like Batshit Crazy Whitney and Celine.

Cyndi has a go at Dicko – whaddyawant? a one note sally? hehehe

Thanh Bui – to me Thanh is to 08 what Daniel Misfud was to 07. Irritating. It’s all just so earnest and predictable. I hope he goes this week. Isn’t that nasty?

The bottom three this week? Thanh, Sophie and Tom. Surely.

the good, the bad, the tired

OH DUDES.
So today was forecast to be 30C and it sure was.
I am NOT a summer/hot weather person but you know what, opening the doors and the windows and getting that ocean breeze through the house was just divine.
The boys were in and out of the backyard and we headed over to the beach mid morning.
Grover was kinda freaked out by the fact we went down near the water as opposed to our normal spot near the dunes.
Felix was in the water in a matter of seconds.
Oscar was whingy and whiney and not really that happy about the whole scenario.
I get that as sand and I are barely on speaking terms.
So we get home and I set up some stuff in the backyard and they all play beautifully with each other, the hose and water play type stuff.
I feel almost euphoric and mentally note the scene as it plays itself out.
How blessed I am to have these boys and to be here to experience these moments with my boys.
As indeed I am.
The rest of the day was just a suckfest of tired, cranky kids who were hungry but didn’t want to eat. Bored but didn’t want to do anything. Wanted to do something but didn’t want to go anywhere.
And so on and so forth.
From fantastic to craptastic in about an hour.
The Chef got home and we had a restaurant quality dinner that we cooked together using produce we bought at the inaugural The Rocks Growers’ Markets yesterday. Salt bush lamb from Narromine cooked on the barbie; a range of organic mushrooms from the Southern Highlands sauteed with white wine and a just a dash of the most remarkable double cream beautiful in its buttercup yellow goodness; mash made from Dutch Cream potatoes and spinach from an organic grower in Orange that I sauteed with a smidge of garlic and a touch of the cream. Oh my.
The kids whinged and whined through the whole thing. Jasper ate some mash. Oscar ate some mash and a couple of mushrooms. Felix ate a sausage. Grover ate some mash off the spoon after meltdown after meltdown, a piece of spinach off my finger followed by another meltdown with some meltdowny sprinkles on top and then a piece of sausage after seeing Felix eating one. The piece of which I’m still finding from the dining table to the lounge.
They all ate jelly.

The newcomer

Going to the gym plays spectacularly to my obsessive tendencies. I start off hating it then find myself doing a couple of extra squats when really I should just be picking Grover up and checking the tears are indignation not injury. Recently the gym has been solitary work on machines which sound like I should be having an epiphany rather than a suspected heart attack. Then last week I crossed the threshold and entered ‘the room’ to do a class. I endured being called ‘my newcomer’. I kept up. I didn’t appear too uncoordinated. I enjoyed it. Go figure.

Letters

Dear elderly Caucasian man with the noticeably younger Asian wife who walk the same walk every morning,
I know it is so wrong of me to think ‘mail order bride’ and it annoys me that I do. So I apologise. But what is with the pair of you wearing what appear to be gardening gloves and the matching broad-rimmed straw hats and sneakers? I did have a chuckle to myself when I caught you out earlier than usual (when I had somewhat remarkably got the boys to their respective schools earlier than the one minute before the bell) and you had matching baseball caps on instead. I wonder about your life and despite my cynicism find it quite endearing that as you complete this daily ritual you are always holding hands.

Dear surfers who use the platform at South Narrabeen to check out the surf,
You are all h.o.t. Please feel free to stand on that viewing platform, your silhouettes marking the most quintessential image of life on Sydney’s beaches, as often as you like. Preferably with the wetsuits half on and torsos bared.

Dear new Lollipop Crossing Guard at Oscar’s school,
I’m so pleased they sacked the last man. There I was thinking I was the only one thinking he was some cranky old bastard trying to squeeze the last gasps of megalomaniacal control in his life at a school crossing and it turns out he really was a cranky old bastard. Apparently the chasing a woman and banging on her car swearing at her in front of all the school kiddies was the final straw. You seem absolutely lovely and I’d like to welcome you into the wonderful community that is Oscar’s school.

Dear teacher who works with mum and also helps with some big jobs in our back yard,
You are such a lovely man and if I had any single female friends I would so be setting you up on a blind date. But the story today? About shooting possums with a homemade silencer on a .22? It kind of caught me off guard. You are quite the enigmatic creature and I wish you had been able to stay for dinner.

Dear programmers on the Lifestyle Food channel,
If you don’t put some decent shows on soon I’m going to start writing letters. Enough with the human Bratz doll, Lydia with the alopecia, that man who cooks but gives no quanitites and always ends making cocktails, that weird sugar show that looks like it’s filmed on a Martha Stewart set and again, gives no quantities for the recipes she is preparing, the endless episodes of Great British Menu with that hideous host who resembles a mouse, and Simply Ming who quite frankly makes me want to take his wok and simply beat him over the head with it. Get to it. Thanks.

You say toe-may-toe*

‘What an absolutely beautiful day.’

‘No. It’s not a bewdifull day.’

‘What!? Look at that gorgeous blue sky!’

‘No. The sky’s not blue. It’s not bewdifull.’

‘Oh? What is it then?’

‘It’s blue. And not good.’

Right then. As you were Captain CrankyPants.

* Also known as turning three in one month and four days.